Mustaches are Cool
by wellhoneydont
Summary: John decides to grow a mustache  much like that of canon!Watson  and Sherlock doesn't exactly like it. One-shot, contains slash.


**A/N: This is what happens when I'm stuck at home all day. Just a fun little one-shot that took me all of about 15 minutes to write; I mostly did it to fix the writer's block I was having for another one of my stories. Thank you all for reading and reviews are high appreciated. :)**

John was plastered to Sherlock. He could feel his partner's tongue outlining his lips as he played with the buttons of his purple silk shirt; played with them, but had no intention of undoing them just yet. Sherlock pushed him onto the couch and held himself above John, kissing him more and more passionately. John had moved his hand to Sherlock's face and was trying desperately to get closer when a thought hit him and he jerked away quickly, rolling out from under the taller man and running to the door to get his coat.

"Shit," he said under his breath. He was having problems getting his arm through the sleeve of his army jacket.

Sherlock stared at him, straightening out his shirt and fixing his hair. After a pause, he said angrily, "What, that's it? You're just going to walk out on me now?"

"Sherlock, I'm late!" John snapped. He hurriedly shook his head to rid it of the rude abruptness but didn't completely abandon the urgency. "I have to get to work. I'm sorry. I'll be home for lunch, I promise. I promise, okay?" he added as Sherlock rolled his eyes.

"Love you!" John called as he ran out the door. He rushed down the stairs and was relieved to be able to hail a cab at once. He told the cabbie where he was headed, told him to speed it up, if he could, and sat back to relax a little. He ran his hands across his face and noticed a little bit of stubble around his chin and upper lip; he had forgotten to shave that morning. Oh, well. He'd shave when he got home.

As usual, John passed Sarah on his way to exchange his army jacket for a lab coat. "Hello, Sarah," he said casually and flashed her a smile.

"Hello, John," she said, pointedly not looking up from her papers.

John furrowed his brow a bit and wondered what on earth had gotten into her as he walked. He passed a mirror on the wall and glanced at it; seeing that his stubble was pretty visible, he stopped and ran his hand across his chin again. Hmm. It looked alright. Maybe he'd let it grow out. He made a face into the mirror. Oh, yeah, he'd keep it, but he definitely had to shave the goatee. He just wanted the mustache. Mustaches were cool.

xXx

John let out a long sigh as he set down his medical bag and flopped down on the couch. It had been a very long day; allergy season, and teenagers seemed to be the main target. They were all extremely irritable and definitely not concerned with manners or being polite in any way. Needless to say, John was happy to be back at Baker Street and away from anyone considerably younger than him. He sank into the cushions and was about to drift off when Sherlock slammed a door down the hall and jolted him awake.

"Grab your coat, John, we're going to dinner," he said imperiously, slipping his own arms inside his coat sleeves and tying his scarf around his neck. John sat with his eyes closed in irritation a moment before reluctantly standing and putting on the coat he'd only just hung up.

As he put his coat on, Sherlock stared at him with his eyebrows in a tight knot.

"What?"

"You forgot to shave this morning."

"I was late, remember? I'll do it later."

Sherlock raised his eyebrows cynically as he turned away but said nothing.

xXx

After they had eaten and returned home, Sherlock sat to watch the crap telly and John picked up his laptop to update his blog. A few minutes passed by uneventfully, but soon John felt Sherlock's eyes on him. He turned around and the other man was, in fact, staring at him again. John would've been flattered that Sherlock couldn't keep his eyes off him except for the fact that again, he looked skeptical.

Instead of speaking, John gave him a look that could only mean "Speak up now or stop bloody staring at me." Sherlock almost smirked.

"You said you'd shave later. It's later."

"I'm kind of in the middle of something, Sherlock. Plus, I kind of like it," he added a little quieter, feeling the stubble above his lip once more.

"Like it? It looks like a caterpillar is taking a nap on your face."

John pursed his lips to keep from snapping back and turned again to his laptop.

xXx

John entered the flat at 221B Baker Street and dropped his medical bag in the corner. He was exhausted; it was the peak of allergy season still, and that meant patients that were even more irritable than usual.

He made a quick cup of tea and carried it with him to his bedroom. He was drained and sleep sounded lovely; he just needed to update his blog first.

As he stripped down to his underwear and climbed between the sheets he briefly wondered where Sherlock was, but the thought was soon gone. He grabbed the laptop from the bedside table and began typing at his slow speed.

He hadn't realized he had fallen asleep until he woke up with a start. His flatmate was on top of him, his brows fixed in a knot. Before John had time to ask Sherlock just what the hell he was doing, the man in question jumped off of him.

"You. Follow me." Sherlock swept off in the direction of the bathroom.

John sat in complete shock, eyes wide open and eyebrows making for the sky before he finally found his legs again.

Once in the bathroom, Sherlock handed him a razor.

"Shave it." he said.

John again sat silent. It had been a few days and his mustache had certainly made itself known; now it really did resemble a furry caterpillar unwinding on his upper lip.

An idea popped into John's head. "Were you... were you trying to shave it yourself?" he asked, incredulous. Sherlock didn't say anything, but his eyes darted around awkwardly; that in itself told John that he was right. "You tried to shave it yourself while I was asleep. I can't believe this." John stared at Sherlock. This was ridiculous. "I mean, you couldn't just ask me?"

"I am now," Sherlock said. "Shave it."

John closed his eyes and exhaled slowly, counting to ten in his head.

"I like it," John said eventually. "It suits me."

Sherlock raised his eyebrows skeptically. John rolled his eyes then, annoyed.

"You can't just order me to do something, Sherlock. I'll keep the mustache if I like it because it's not up to you. Besides, what are you going to do? Not talk to me for a day? You've done that before and I made it out alive. It was actually quite nice, to tell the truth."

Sherlock leaned down so his nose was touching John's. John's anger evaporated. He badly wanted to close the gap and press their lips together, but Sherlock's imperious air prevented him from doing so. He stayed there, staring, tantalizingly close.

"John, please shave it. I'll kiss you if you do." Sherlock was using his sweetest, most innocent voice. Oh, this was just cruel.

"What if I kiss you first? You have no power over that."

"But you won't John." Sherlock placed his hand on John's cheek, moving his thumb in circles across the skin.

John tried valiantly to stay strong, but he was no match for Sherlock. The man knew how to get what he wanted.

John lasted all of two minutes more before pulling away from the grip of his flatmate.

"Fine." he spat. Sherlock let a shadow of a smile cross his features as he watched John shave off the blasted mustache.

Once he was done, John examined his face in the mirror, running his hand across the place that was newly smooth. He turned to Sherlock.

"Better?"

"Much better."

Sherlock allowed a real smile to emerge. He took John's face in his hands one again and drew closer. He stopped before their lips touched again, and it was legitimately driving John crazy.

"Don't ever try for a mustache again, John, okay?"

In response, John leaned in and finally kissed Sherlock square on the mouth. To be honest, he'd missed it, since Sherlock had stubbornly refused as long as John had the mustache. Sherlock wrapped his arms around John's neck and held him tighter. He used his tongue to trace the outline of John's lips, and he could taste John smiling.

Thank God he'd been able to convince John to shave it. He'd missed this.


End file.
